


Pain's Hammer

by duffmansean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Dominant Sam, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Pain Kink, Possessive Sam Winchester, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duffmansean/pseuds/duffmansean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pain can be a tool.  Dean puts it into practice and Sam finds a different use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain's Hammer

It started a long, long time ago.  Sam had no idea when exactly, but he’d bet Dean’s age was in the single-digits.  As kids, Sam had looked up to his big brother, studied his every move, and even though he’d been too young to connect the dots then, he was old enough now to see it -- back then as well as now.  All the little clues; the cuts that took ages to heal, the bruises that would ripen and then rot all over again, the flippant excuses when Dad barked his concern.

It all clicked into place now as Sam stood in the doorway of their motel room, staring at his brother who was seated on his bed (like always) with his weapons laid out (like always) and the TV hissing out what would have been a cheesy sitcom if the reception was any better (like always), but this time there was a pile of medical gauze, a tincture of iodine, and bandages scattered with the weapons.  The knife’s edge was tainted with blood, incriminating in Dean’s grip with the same bloo pouring freely from a deep gash on his upper arm.

The wound was left unchecked for several long moments, sad hazel locked onto wide green.  

“Dean?”

The soft plea shattered the incapacitating silence and the spell was broken.  Dean grabbed the gauze and slapped it tight against his arm, knife never leaving the same hand.  He jumped up off the bed, not giving his little brother time to start up another glorious share-and-care, and announced he needed a shower and it was Sam’s turn to clean the guns.

When the door slammed shut, lock clicking into place, Sam came to himself and walked to the bed.  Apparently Dean had grabbed the medical supplies and taken those with him, too.  So, he sat on the bed with his laptop (like always) listening to the TV hissing out a cheesy sitcom (like always) and his brother hiding in the shelter that was the motel bathroom (like always).

 

* * *

 

By the time Dean came out of the bathroom (having stayed in there for fifteen minutes, silently, before the sound of the shower started up), Sam had cleaned the guns, put them away, set some beer in a cooler and was watching Jay Leno with feigned interest, bottle in hand.  Their eyes met for another long, drawn out second, but then Sam turned back to the TV.

“I found a new hunt,” he said and the look Dean shot his way gave him a small sense of pride to know that he wasn’t as predictable as his brother seemed to think.  “Some weird disappearances up in New Hampshire; I can’t figure out the pattern, though.”  He took a long pull from his bottle and watched his brother grab his own from the cooler and sit down on the edge of the other mattress.  

They sat in silence for a long time.  Sam could feel Dean’s eyes on him, glancing between the TV set and him.  Sam was concerned.  The pain of finally seeing what he’d denied for years twisted his gut and made his chest ache, but he had to be patient; he knew Dean wanted to talk, Dean always wanted to talk, but if Sam asked then Dean would deny it and say nothing was wrong.  Something about that stupid Winchester pride, he guessed.  So it was a game; make Dean come to him.  If he could get Dean to bring it up first, Sam knew his brother would talk freely and answer any question Sam asked him.  So he just had to be patient...

Jay Leno was just saying good night when Dean finally cracked.  “Alright, enough!” He shouted, waving his third bottle of El Sol and Sam half expected him to chuck it at the wall -- or his head.  

Sam gazed at his brother, steady and calm.  “Enough what?” He asked, enjoying the effect his feigned ignorance had on Dean’s expression.  

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean huffed, getting up and fetching yet another adult beverage, “I know it’s eating at you!  Just ask already!”  He stood there, arms stretched wide, t-shirt worn thin, face twisted in anxious anger, and emanating a fierceness to rival Tyra Banks; and yet, he looked terribly fragile.

Sam set his bottle down by his feet and walked to his brother.  With very slow, easy movements, he reached up and pushed the edge of Dean’s sleeve up to expose the new cut.  He was surprised to see it had scabbed over thick and full; it had looked a lot worse-off than that.  

“I’m glad it didn’t need stitches,” Sam said softly, letting the thread-bare sleeve fall back down.  

Dean’s breath came out in a heavy whoosh of a sigh and Sam took a step back to give his brother the space he needed.  They stood still for a while before Dean couldn’t take it any more.  “Okay,” he said, agitated, “Out with it already.”

Huffing his frustration, Sam gave in, “Well, what do you want, Dean?  There’s a million questions I could ask, millions, but you know as well as I do that they don’t mean shit.”  He frowned at the way his older brother cringed away from his tone.  He took another deep, calming breath and tried again, “It’s okay, Dean.  I mean, it’s not okay but... if you’re expecting me to freak out or something, it won’t happen.  Let it go, man.”

The shameful pain in Dean’s eyes made it hard for Sam to breathe.  There was more long, stretched out silence while Sam’s thumb rubbed at the sleeve hiding Dean’s self-inflicted wound.  “I’m not gonna try and stop you, Dean.”

“You’re not?” Cynically amused disbelief made Dean’s lip curl.

“No, I’m not,” Sam said, fingers sliding under the sleeve and pushing it back up.  “I won’t need to...” and his hand clamped down tight around Dean’s arm, squeezing.

Dean hissed, “What the fuck, Sam!?”  He stared at his brother like he’d gone crazy -- he probably had -- and tried to pull out of Sam’s grip, but it only served to yank the tender flesh and pull the scab. 

Sam tugged his brother by the arm and flung him, bodily onto the mattress.  Dean stared up at him, confused and angry.  Sam bent over him, hands on either side of Dean’s shoulders and leaned down close enough that his lips almost brushed against his brother’s when he spoke, “It’s a tool, Dean... that’s all.”  

“What? Get off me,” Dean wriggled, twisting away from Sam, but his younger brother had other plans.  Sam brought his knees up on either side of Dean’s and settled his weight down, straddling Dean’s hips.  Dean stilled, staring up at him and was determined to ignore the ulterior motives begging to be let loose.

“Are there others?” Sam tilted his head as he asked, curious, and let his hands run up Dean’s sides, pushing the thin shirt up.  When there was no answer, “Dean, I asked you a question.”

Yes, was what Dean’s lips said but it was so soft that Sam prompted him again; he was going to make his brother talk.  “Yes,” Dean repeated through gritted teeth.

True to his word, as the shirt rose up, Sam noticed more fresh cuts along Dean’s ribs on both sides.  The dark, brick-colored lines were too precise, too evenly spaced to be anything other than self-inflicted.  They were shallower than the cut on Dean’s arm, but there were so many... He let one hand ghost over them and Dean shivered, eyes shut tight.  

“Sam,” a quiet warning.

Still running his fingertips over the cuts, Sam let a fingernail scrape gently over a scab.

“Sam,” a hiss... the emotion was difficult to figure out, though.  

The younger Winchester’s eyes moved up to Dean’s face, watching closely, and he dug his nail a little harder into the ragged crust.

Sammy, too quiet to hear but Dean’s lips spoke it anyway.  His chest heaved his shallow gasps and Sam smiled at the way his cheeks had turned a soft pinkish color, the freckles almost blending into it.  

Bending further and letting his hips scoot back a bit (ignoring the friction there), Sam let his lips brush over one thin cut and Dean’s breath caught and held.  “Shhh,” Sam whispered against his skin and, surprisingly, Dean listened, sighing and letting his breathing resume it’s shallow rhythm.  Sam placed a light kiss on each cut, first the left side, then the right, and as he got to the very last of them, he got brave and let his tongue run over the rough line.

Dean whimpered and arched up against Sam and he marveled at his brother’s response.  Moving away from Dean’s ribs, Sam kissed Dean’s cheek and then his jaw and then his neck; loving the way his brother stretched and bared his neck to his younger brother.  Sam let his mouth run down the column of Dean’s neck, sucking skin and tendons, leaving soft little marks here and there.  Encouraged by the tentative noises Dean was making, Sam let his teeth drag gently over the soft skin and, after getting nothing but positive feedback, he sucked the skin into his mouth again, holding it between his teeth.

Sam felt Dean’s jaw move and heard the rasp of a whisper but didn’t catch it.  “What, Dean?”  He pulled away, looking up at his brother’s face, questioning with his expression.  

Dean watched him from under heavy eyelids, mouth parted open with his small gasps for breath, the flush growing brighter with what he wanted to say, and Sam couldn’t think of anything more beautiful.  

“Harder,” Dean whispered, almost too soft to hear (and maybe Sam hadn’t heard it, but read it and just thought he did).  

Smiling at his brother’s request and the way he turned away quickly, looking anywhere but in Sam’s direction, Sam kissed along his brother’s jaw and down his neck again.  With just a moment’s hesitation, he bit down.  

Dean groaned, arching against his brother once more.  “Harder,” this time it was audible and Sam obliged, teeth folding the skin tight.  “Harder!”  And Sam bit down more and more with each insistent request from his brother until he was certain his teeth would go right through the thin tissue. Dean’s body was a taut bow beneath him, finger nails digging into his shoulder blades, and, when Sam finally released Dean’s skin, lapping and kissing the abused area, Dean melted against the comforter, sighing deeply.  

He let his older brother catch his breath for a moment before tugging Dean’s shirt up and over his head, body loose like a rag doll.  Sam stared down at Dean’s naked chest, taking in the cuts on his ribs, the hickeys blooming along the pale skin, and the angry, red teeth-shaped welt positioned above the juncture of his neck and collarbone, slightly off-center.  He ran his fingers over it, trying not to think too hard about how good it felt to mark his brother, and his brother moaned again, soft and airy.  

Dean looked dazedly up at Sam, his expression set tight and concentrating, trying to figure out his little brother once again.  

“You like that?” Sam asked quietly, meeting his brother’s stare, “Hurting... like this?”  He was suddenly and unnervingly aware of where their hips were pressing against each other and the aching want pulsing through his groin.  The situation isn’t fucked up enough as is -- you gotta get hard?  Dean seemed to be thinking the same thing, too; and yea, Sam was aware of their shared condition now.  

Some talk-show host babbled on the television behind them as they sat silently staring at one another, all but reading each other’s thoughts.  

Fuck it, Sam thought and pressed his lips against Dean’s.  They were surprisingly soft -- more so than Sam expected -- and he could feel Dean hesitate, tense with indecision; so he kept his lips there, letting his tongue slide along his own bottom lip and just barely brush against Dean’s, teasing -- and it worked.  His older brother let loose a strangled groan and, whether intentional or not, his hips hitched up against Sam’s, oh do that again.  Wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders, one hand tangling in the soft curls at the base of his neck, Dean kissed back, tongue pressing through Sam’s lips before the younger man knew what had happened.  

Everything moved too fast after that.  Sam pressed down against Dean; and Dean lifted his hips to meet Sam’s; and their lips never left each other, tongues rolling easily between them; and Dean yanked Sam’s shirt off at some point, his jeans following suit shortly after; and Sam gripped the cut on Dean’s arm, mine lingering on his lips; and Dean would hiss and squirm and love every second of it; and Sam would bite and claw at his brother because that’s what he needed; and neither one of them contemplated how perfectly good it all felt.

Feeling bold, Sam slid his hand down and under his brother’s waistband.  Dean choked on a gasp as Sam’s fingers curled around his cock, running up and down the length of it.  Sam kissed Dean’s neck while his fingers worked his brother’s hard-on because Dean’s lips were too busy muttering curses and pleas.  His hand twisted on the up-swing, thumb brushing over the tip and smearing pre-come over it.

“Sammy,” his older brother choked out, white-knuckling fistfuls of the comforter.

Sam glanced at his brother’s face, reading it for any sign of hesitation or oh god what the fuck are we doing, stop... but there was nothing of the sort to be found, so he did the next logical step.  He let his hips grind down against Dean’s exposed cock; and his brother couldn’t possibly be getting air through all the moans and curses and whimpers.  

Dean growled deep, curling up enough to reach down and yank at Sam’s boxer-briefs, “Off.”  And there was no arguing with that tone.  Sam slipped his underwear off quick and pressed back down against his brother, gasping and sighing as their bodies came up flush against one another.  Both men groaned deep when Sam rolled his hips, their cocks sliding against one another in a most obscene fashion.  

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam panted against his brother’s neck.  A moan was the only response he got.  His brother met each of Sam’s thrusts with a needful roll of his own hips, chasing after Sam’s.  It felt too good; silky, firm flesh pressing tight against the same, sweat making it slick and easy.  Dean’s fingers tangled in Sam’s hair, another hand digging his finger nails mercilessly into the thick flesh of his back, and Sam could only moan at how good it felt.  

Pulling the soft flesh of Dean’s neck into his mouth, Sam bit down again, feeling a tendon roll between his teeth.  Dean shook with the sensation, nails clawing at Sam so hard he was certain they had to have broken the skin.  Letting the tender tissue free, Sam pressed his tongue against the swollen, red bruise, lapping at it, “You won’t hurt yourself again, Dean.”  He nipped at other places, licked and sucked, and all the while his hips pumped against Dean’s, pushing his cock up against his brother’s, tight and slick between them.

“No, Sammy,” Dean whispered against his baby brother’s hair, breathless and delirious with need, “I won’t.”

“You’re mine,” Sam continued whispering against Dean’s abused flesh, “Only I get to do this,” and he bit down, hard, teeth sinking through the skin, the copper taste of Dean’s blood tainting his mouth.

Dean came with Sammy’s name on his lips, his come slicking the space between them.  Reaching a hand down, Sam jerked himself and, with Dean’s come making a perfect lubricant, it didn’t take long before Sam was groaning loudly with release.  He collapsed to the side of Dean, breathing heavily.

They were still for a long time, catching their breath and riding out the waves of aftershock.  Sam couldn’t seem to stop smiling, his mouth twitching up with every other sigh of contentment.  

He felt fingers brushing away the hair that had stuck to his forehead.  Opening his lazy eyes, he was met with Dean's steady, concentrating gaze.  Sam’s head tilted in his own habitual way, asking but not receiving an answer for several long seconds.  Finally Dean’s mouth twitched in what could maybe be considered a smile and he kissed Sam’s brow gently, whispering, “Only you,” against Sam’s skin, so soft he wasn’t sure he heard it (and maybe he hadn’t, but just knew what the words would feel like). 


End file.
